


tell me you never loved me (tell me it was just a lie)

by subgyeom



Series: yugyeom-centric collection [15]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Kim Yugyeom-centric, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 19:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14268210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subgyeom/pseuds/subgyeom
Summary: “stop crying,” yugyeom whispers to himself.





	tell me you never loved me (tell me it was just a lie)

**Author's Note:**

> me, writing: all i did is write angst, nothing wrong with that-  
> my mind: you fucked up yugyeom is what you did. look at him. he's got anxiety.
> 
> what is this??? i'm not entirely sure. i wanted to write something fluffy in celebration of bammie being exempt of military service but it turned into incomplete sadness that had no real direction in the first place whoops
> 
> (title from break my heart by hey violet, the saddest of bops)
> 
> links: [tumblr](https://25gyeom.tumblr.com/), [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/subgyeom), [twitter](https://twitter.com/LOOKGYEOM), [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/subgyeom)

“stop crying,” yugyeom whispers to himself.

tears stick to his eyelashes and his lip quivers with each unsteady breath, nails cutting into the sensitive skin of his arms as he tries to force himself back from the edge of veering between shattering to pieces all over his bedroom floor or at least being able to pretend as he falls apart. pretending is what yugyeom’s good at. it’s his crutch, the only thing he can rely on in times of need because, when the world is against you and each and every little movement towards something that could be a little more or a little less like tragedy just tightens that vice grip around your broken heart, a heart that’s barely held together by your own patchwork, pretending is vital. pretending keeps your head above water, keeps your blood pumping, keeps others off your back. but yugyeom, curled up on a bed that feels too empty and surrounded by a silence that pushes down like a heavy and immovable weight on his shoulders, doesn’t think he can pretend anymore.

in all honesty, yugyeom’s sick of pretending. because pretending keeps you anchored, held down to your regrets and words you could never bring yourself to speak out loud but could only murmur in the dead of night and the one person who could make you feel _alive_ \- but part of yugyeom just wants to be swept away, to be able to forgive and forget or maybe, if he’ll forever be punished for his sins and will never be gifted with relief, to be able to disappear.

disappear. vanish. _escape_ . there’s a lot yugyeom wishes to escape from, not that he could ever bring himself to admit it. sometimes, standing on the stifling atmosphere of a stage with thousands of eyes following his form, yugyeom wonders why he chose this (because he loves performing but he can’t help but think that possibly, just possibly, it’s sucking away his ability to feel like he can live anymore). sometimes, when he perches on the couch but doesn’t hear voices echoing through absent corridors, yugyeom wonders why he didn’t voice protests as he watched boxes pile up and the boys he relied on leave through an open door (because his hyungs are the only people who can make yugyeom feel safe, like he isn’t drowning in responsibilities and hate and his own drastically declining self-worth but they just keep on fucking leaving him). sometimes, when he avoids wide eyes and plump lips and the face that causes fans to swoon but leaves yugyeom _aching_ , yugyeom wonders why he’s never stood up for himself, why he’s not been able to fight back, why he couldn’t bring himself to voice it all, why he couldn’t make the other stay. he wants to flee from this life and his hyungs and the one boy he adores with all of his heart but who could never love him back-

it’s his own stuttered breathing that shakes him out of his mind, his whole chest heaving and his fingers trembling in their place curled into the thin fabric of his shirt. it’s his own door clicking open that leaves him shaking and wishing he could retreat further back into his mind and prevent himself from even understanding reality as a concept.

there’s a tan hand curled around the handle. a familiar face appears. “yugyeomie, is everything okay-” there’s a pause, a moment of silence for yugyeom to savour and for bambam to soak in what he is witnessing. “oh.”

he looks like a mess and he’s hyper aware of the fact. his skin is a sickly shade in the glaring light (a shade the other would praise, would call ethereal and highlighted in the moonlight that shone from barely open curtains), barely covered by the loose shirt that exposes collarbones that want to break from their cage (collarbones that teeth would scrape over and leave little bites that yugyeom would hide with makeup and turtlenecks). his whole body is quaking (but not the kind of intense shivering that would occur when bambam touched him in places he shouldn’t have and all yugyeom could do was mewl and squirm and claw at white sheets) and there are tears coating his cheeks and red rimmed around his eyes. he’s a mess, a fucking broken mess, and bambam doesn’t deserve to have to glance at him with those pretty eyes of his.

“yugyeom.” he’s nearing, nearing, nearing and it takes everything that yugyeom, all the little strength left is his battered body, to not flinch away the moment bambam nears the edge of his bed. “oh, _snow white_ , what’s wrong?” and it’s that, just a fucking pet name that yugyeom hasn’t heard in so long, that makes him wince.

bambam used to call him that, whisper it in sweet tones and watch the flush curve over his cheeks and up his ears. said it came from the black of soft hair paired with the paleness of his skin and the way when he smiled (with both rows of teeth as the skin around his eyes crinkled and happiness lit up his features in a way that is long forgotten) his cheeks would puff up into little ruby red apples and how, no matter how large he may seem, fragility exuded from his slender waist and delicate wrists and pouty lips. they would lie in each other’s arms and bambam would laugh at how yugyeom struggled with the english pronunciation of each word and yugyeom would pretend to be mad while he struggled to hold in his own giggles and-

and yugyeom goddamn hates bambam for reminding him of what he once had.

yugyeom doesn’t answer. he keeps his gaze to the ground and bites his lip and keeps every little word locked away because he doesn’t need this, doesn’t need the boy who abandoned him but who still likes to pretend their best friends in front of him trying to pry out every little issue that’s leaving yugyeom falling apart at the seams.

“snow white, what-”

“don’t call me that.”

his tone is venomous. there are tears painting his face and he can’t stop shaking but his voice is like poison and his lips are curled into something that’s almost a snarl.

“i don’t want you to call me that.”

his voice is like poison but his eyes are soft and shattered and they peer upon the other as if there is no hope left in the world.

“i don’t want you here, right now.”

“i want to be alone.”

“leave.”

bambam doesn’t.

he can’t.

because bambam already left a long time ago.

and he never came back to yugyeom.

not in the way he wanted.

 


End file.
